


til the sky and sea align

by thekardemomme



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: (im trying my best), Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Eventual Romance, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-02 00:31:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14532771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekardemomme/pseuds/thekardemomme
Summary: When Isak pulledThe Serpentineinto port in Bjørgvin, he expected to leave with the food, water, equipment, and weapons needed for a two month voyage to the Americas. He didn't expect to leave with Even Bech Næsheim, son of a poor innkeeper, who dreams of a life at sea.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> wow idk where to even begin with these notes!! i guess i should start off with a disclaimer that while i am going for as much historical accuracy as possible, i'm definitely not immune to mistakes (or to just making things up), hence the inaccuracy tag. i will definitely try my best to stay true to the time period (mid to late 1700s!) but if i make any mistakes, here's my apology in advance :)
> 
> secondly, i hope you all enjoy this? i know it's a bit out there as far as plots go, but i'd like to think that this will be okay anyways.
> 
> thirdly, this is dedicated to wyo, who has been asking for a pirate au for ages (i hope i do it justice!), kenzie, who always always supports me and yells at me to write this fucking fic, and meggplant, who yells at me to write and also gave me this title. i love all three of you a ton.

There’s nothing quite like the sunrise from the middle of the Atlantic. Miles and miles of open sea around you, rippling current reflecting glitters of sunlight like golden diamonds. Nothing but the smell of salt and sound of the waves, as the world wakes up and the ship bears on. Isak thought he’d be used to such sunrises after so many years at sea, but he has yet to grow accustomed to what is probably the seventh wonder of the world.

This morning, they’re somewhere off the coast of Norway, set to port in Bjørgvin within the next hour or so. Isak crosses the deck, watching all of his men doing their jobs. The sun has just begun slipping above the horizon, turning the black sky into a hazy navy blue. Isak and the crew of _The Serpentine_ are up a bit earlier than they would on a normal day, but there’s much to be done. It’s not very often that the ship ports to stock up on supplies, and it’s crucial that they get all of their necessary goods—otherwise it could mean certain death. Isak has his own work to be doing, quick math and ensuring that everyone else is doing their share, but it’s been a while since he’s missed a sunrise and he doesn’t plan on starting now.

“Captain!” One of the men yells, stirring Isak from his reverie. Isak walks over to the hull, where the boatswain, Magnus, is hunched over one of the ship’s anchors. “As I was performing this morning’s inspections, I noticed the knot on this anchor was a bit weathered. Is there spare rope so I can mend the anchor for port?”

“You’ll have to ask the quartermaster,” Isak informs him. “It’s his job to keep up with such information. Do be sure, however, that the anchor is in good working order for port. Bjørgvin is a trading town of high quality, and we mustn’t waste any of our time with any deficiencies. I trust you’ll have the anchor fixed by this afternoon?”

Magnus nods, “Yes, Captain. You have my word.”

“Good.” Isak nods, then spins on his heel and makes his way back to the stern, swaying slightly as the wind picks up the waves. The sun is starting to creep up higher, painting soft yellows on the horizon. Isak quickens his pace, hoping that none of his men will ask him more questions, so he’ll make it to his cabin in time to watch the sunrise uninterrupted.

The captain’s quarters are in the stern, with a set of windows that Isak spends too much of his time looking through. When he’s stuck on sums or bored with inventory, he passes his duties onto either the first mate or the boatswain and sits in front of his window for hours. The view never changes much—one patch of the Atlantic can look eerily similar to a patch of the Indian—but he adores it. He adores the sight of crystalline saltwater heaving under the pull of wind and currents.

When the sky turns to streaks of yellow and orange, Isak is just settling into his chair. Three quarters of the sun is up now, and Isak can make out the jagged edge of Norway in the distance. His heart aches with both familiarity and disdain, for the land he was born from and the land that abandoned him. The stop in Bjørgvin will be brief, if Isak has any control over that. He can’t bear to be in the Nordic countries for much longer than a day or two.

Isak doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until there’s banging on his door, pulling him out of it. He hurried to regain his bearings, stumbling over to the door and opening it to reveal his first mate, Jonas.

“We’ve dropped the anchor, Captain,” Jonas says, slightly out of breath. “The boatswain presumes we won’t have very long before the rope snaps right in two. We’d better hurry.”

“So go on, then. I’m not going to disembark today.”

Jonas’s eyebrows raise, and his eyes flit to the Norwegian flag that Isak has on the wall—identical to the one hanging from the stern staff. Normally, their pirate flag flies there from daybreak to midnight. However, in an effort to pull into port relatively disguised, to buy them at least some time, they were currently flying a Norwegian flag.

“We’re in Bjørgvin,” Jonas reminds him, as if Isak could’ve possibly forgotten. “You’re home.”

“I’m not home. My home is in Christiania, and I have no plans to return there as long as I live. Go on, now. Ensure that all of the rations and supplies are on board before the lot of you go rip a pub to shreds.”

Jonas smiles a crooked smile, and Isak fights the urge to return it. “We always take amazing care of the pub,” Jonas rebukes, “because that’s the only way we’ll get drinks. Otherwise they’ll kick us out.” He steps back, then hesitates. “Are you sure, Captain, that you don’t want to come along?”

“Yes, I’m positive.”

“Very well.” Jonas steps back again, before finally turning his back and making his way to the gangplank. Isak waits for his mop of curls to disappear before he himself disappears back into his cabin to return to his sums.

For the rest of the day, Isak only hears the sounds of the waves, the seagulls, and the thumps of his men bringing supplies onboard. The sound doesn’t lull him to sleep, as it may under other circumstances. No, today Isak is on guard, ready to draw his sword if need be. If only one land dwelling Norwegian catches sight of Isak’s towering 6’1 stature—rival only to Blackbeard himself, who stood at 6’5—the _Serpentine_ will be overloaded with Norwegian naval soldiers in no time. Isak can’t afford to lose any men mid-winter.

When the water outside of Isak’s window starts glittering with the beginnings of moonlight, he decides to stand and stretch his legs. All of his crew are out drinking and gambling and sleeping around. And Isak, while having no interest in such activities, decides that maybe it would do him some good to let his feet touch dry land before the next three months voyage to the Americas.

He crosses the gangplank, finally settling his feet on stable ground. He struggles not to wobble as he walks down the all-too-familiar cobblestone streets, weaving between the few people still out past dark. Bjørgvin is quite busy in the daylight, but as it would seem, the city and its dwellers enjoy their rest.

It doesn’t take him long to locate the tavern that his men are in. There’s loud, raucous laughter coming from within, and the ground outside is practically shaking. Isak stares through the window at Magnus, who’s drinking a tankard of ale in one go. It’s quite amusing, but Isak doesn’t step one toe inside.

“Sir?” He hears, and he spins around to find a portly woman smiling at him from the threshold of an inn. “It’s quite cold out here, can I fancy you a nice warm cup of cider? Maybe a warm bed for the night?”

Isak starts to politely decline the offer, but the sound of his crew laughing again echoes behind him. Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea to stay nearby, just for the evening. He’ll return to _The Serpentine_ before daybreak, and they’ll pull out of port by afternoon.

So, he nods, stepping across the street and into the inn. There’s a few other men gathered in the entry room, drinking out of mugs and tankards alike. Isak sidles up to the bar, sliding onto a stool and waiting for the woman who’d invited him to offer him that cider she’d promised.

Instead, a man of equal or more height than himself, and substantial amounts of beauty, walks up. He looks as though he belongs in the castle, wearing clothes embroidered with gold and sleeping in a bed made of shapen silver. He’s much prettier than any commoner in any town that Isak’s ever stepped foot in, and it’s a little bit of a shock to the system.

The man smiles at him, as warm as the cider that Isak’s anticipating. “Good evening,” he says, his voice smooth and low. “Cider?”

“Yes,” Isak nods, “please.”

Whilst the man busies himself with preparing the drink, Isak ogles. The man has a jawline smattered with dirt and what appears to be soot, as well as perhaps some grease. He’s beautiful, one of the most beautiful men Isak’s ever seen. The man hands over his cider and then leans against the counter, tossing a rag over his shoulder.

“My name’s Even,” he says, and Isak nods once. He’s not too sure why the man is telling him anything. “You’re a pirate, I assume?”

Isak chokes on a sip of his cider, looking around wildly to make certain no other patrons had been eavesdropping. “You’d be smart to watch your mouth, throwing around accusations like that,” he hisses, clenching the handle of his tankard perhaps a bit too aggressively. “That’s the sort of behavior that’ll get you killed.”

But the man doesn’t waver. “I sit in this inn everyday, sir.” He leans in closer, lowering his voice even more. “I’m in need of someone like you, you see. I’m trying to get out of Bjørgvin, and a pirate ship is the only way I know how. You have to help me, sir. I presume you’re a captain,” he points to the scarf around Isak’s neck, “and I know I can be of help to your crew somehow.”

“Cabin boy?” Isak prods. Even’s eyes go wide, and then, whilst he tries to school his face back to stoic, Isak speaks once more. “I’m only taking the piss. It’d be presumptuous of you to request that position, would it not?”

“I presume, sir, that people start looking one and the same after months at sea.”

Isak shrugs, “Perhaps for some. Not all. And anyway, I would never request the presence of someone who had no desire to be there. Now.” He finishes off his cider, handing it off to Even for a refill. “Why do you want to board? Got little fantasies from when you played pirates as a boy?”

Even shakes his head, turning back to Isak and handing him a full tankard. Their hands brush, and Isak isn’t surprised to feel how soft Even’s are in comparison to his own callouses. “No, Captain. I just want to go on an adventure. As I said, I’ve been stuck in this inn for my whole life. I’ve never seen much other than this city and the water next to it, is all. I want to see _more._ Pirates travel all around the world, you know, and I want to know how it feels.”

“Being aboard a pirate ship is no pleasure cruise.”

“I know, sir,” Even affirms. “I’ve considered all of the possible consequences and I’m willing to take the risk. I wouldn’t mind living a short life if that short life was one well-lived. I can’t find that here, in Bjørgvin. I want more, and you’re the only one who can give me that.”

Isak cocks his head. “Why me?”

“You’re the first one to be so kind,” Even admits, and everything in Isak is surprised. _Kind_ isn’t usually the word used to describe him. “So I figured I had higher chances of you agreeing. You are going to agree, aren’t you?”

And Isak considers it, he really does. He prepares to tell Even that _The Serpentine_ pulls out at dawn, be it with Even on board or without. But he swallows his tongue along with his cider, and instead shrugs. Even sets his jaw and refills Isak’s cider tankard again.

“Once again,” Isak sighs, “you’re being presumptuous and throwing out many accusations. My ship is a perfectly legal Norwegian ship, and my crew is full of moral and skilled mariners. To insinuate otherwise is quite the insult.”

“Please,” Even begs, “I’ll do anything.”

“And anyway, you’re not cut out for a life like that. Maybe life as an innkeeper isn’t the life you wanted, but it’s the life you’ve got. The cards you were dealt by our great and Holy maker, whoever He may be. And you’ll just have to learn to be alright with that.” He sets aside his drink, rising from the stool and putting his hat back on his head. “Have a good evening, sir. Thank your mother for the warm drink.” He tosses a few coins on the counter and walks out, the wobble in his step no longer from sea legs.

 _The Serpentine_ remains in the port as if Isak had never left it, and he takes a sigh of relief at that. Even with the Norwegian flag and the inconspicuous appearance that allows _The Serpentine_ to pass as a trade ship, they run the risk of being discovered at any port. The sword at Isak’s hip weighs heavy as he crosses the gangplank and returns to the deck.

Part of him feels like a hypocrite for telling Even to be happy with his life as an innkeeper. He thinks of his past life in Christiania, and everything he’s left behind. He doesn’t think about it often, the wounds covered in scar tissue by now. He prefers to pretend as though they never existed.

He returns to his quarters, changing out of his tunic and trousers. He hangs them on a hook and then slides into bed, the cold weather of Norway chilling his bones. He falls asleep there, with soot lingering on his fingers from where he’d touched the tankard in the same place Even had.

***

In the morning, after sunrise (so much for pulling out at dawn), the crew returns to _The Serpentine_ with a mix of delighted smiles and hungover stumbles. Isak stands starboard, at the top of the gangplank, greeting everyone as they return. His crew, despite the hangovers, doesn’t hesitate to get right to work to prepare the ship for its return to seafaring.

“You left the ship after all,” Jonas grins, purple love bite bright on his neck. Isak pokes it once, and Jonas grins more. “I saw you going to the inn last night. Find any maidens?”

Isak snorts, “Funny of you to assume I’d be in search of maidens at all. But, if you must know, the only woman I came into contact with was the innkeeper herself. Her son, however, was much more appealing.”

“Did he warm your bed?”

“No,” Isak laughs. “Our conversation didn’t extend far past inquiries for him to fill my cider.”

Jonas shrugs, “That’s to be expected. You’ve never been one to bring lays back to ship, nor to spend the night anywhere other than your quarters.” He steps onboard fully. “When are we due to pull out?”

“As soon as possible.”

“As you wish, Captain.” He winks at Isak and then walks off, calling out orders to various crew members. Isak stays starboard, glancing out over Bjørgvin. Over the country he once called home. It feels like quite the distant memory, now.

They set sail within the next few hours. It isn’t long before land is no longer in sight, and they’re dodging ice caps in the water. Isak stays in his cabin for most of the day’s voyage, reading over his crew’s reports to ensure all of the supplies they needed where accounted for. His crew may be the best of the best, but they _were_ prone to forgetting one or two things in their eagerness to get drunk and get laid.

The only thing to come up short on sums is bread, which Isak counts as a success. He stacks his parchment in the corner of his desk and makes his way to the kitchens, where Mahdi is stirring a pot.

“How are the bread rations?” Isak asks, crossing the small room to where the bread is stacked in the closet. “Anders’ sums didn’t work out, and I wanted to make certain we’ll have enough.”

Mahdi sighs, putting down the spoon and resting his hands on his hips. “There’s meant to be at least 5 more bags. Anders probably got distracted and left them unattended somewhere. Perhaps they’re down in the cargo hold.”

Isak furrows his eyebrows. “The cargo hold? What in God’s name would sacks of bread be doing down there?”

“That’s where Anders himself emerged from this morning,” Mahdi says, returning to his forgotten pot. “Him and his maiden of the evening. Anyway, the bread is probably eaten by rats at this point. But I’m willing to go look, once I finish this soup for supper tonight.”

“I’ll go look,” Isak reassures, leaving no room for Mahdi to protest. He takes one piece of potato and eats it before stalking out of the kitchen and making his way down to the cargo hold. He takes a candle down with him, because the cargo hold is about as dark as night, even during the day.

The sound of rats scurrying around is what greets Isak upon his entry to the cargo hold. He curses Anders name for the bread that is, most likely, completely ruined. He shines his candle around, searching among the boxes for 5 bags of discarded bread.

He finds one sack, partially chewed through by rats. When Isak kneels down to inspect it, he finds bread remnants. “God damn it,” he sighs, standing back up, the chewed sack in his grip. He’s about to go deck side and offer Anders a walk off the plank, when he’s stopped by the sound of shuffling. Shuffling much too loud to be a rat. No, this is something big. Something heavy.

“Who’s there?” Isak demands, spinning on his heel to face the myriad of boxes. The room remains quiet. “Reveal yourself, or else.” Silence.

Isak starts kicking bags, and opening boxes. All of them are full of supplies or other cargo, but none reveal the source of the shuffling. But he bears on, leaving no box unturned.

It’s not until the fourth to the last box that Isak discovers it. He flips the lid, finding a human bent over in it. The intruder stands, hand raised in surrender. Isak draws his sword quickly, nearly shoving it right through the intruder’s chest without a glance at the identity. But then Isak gets a glimpse of his face, and he falters.

“Even?!” He spits out, and Even, visibly frightened, nods frantically. “I told you to stay in Bjørgvin. What the hell are you doing here?”

“I told you I had to get away. You don’t understand, Captain, I had to leave. I can be of help here, I can, I promise I can. I can navigate, cook, clean, anything. I’ll do anything, I’ll do anything.”

“The first thing you’re going to do is step out of that box.” Even follows orders, and keeps his hands up. Isak can feel the fear radiating off of him, and it just makes him angry. He’d told Even to stay away for Even’s own safety, and here Even was, putting himself in danger. “Turn around.” With Even’s back to him, he presses the tip of sword into his back, just enough to remind Even it’s there. “Walk.”

They make their way up to the deck, and all of the crew cranes their necks to see what stowaway Captain has gotten this time. Isak walks Even all the way to the plank, just so he can see the sea below.

“See that?” Isak asks, and Even nods. “This is the fate of those who sneak on _The Serpentine._ See, normally, stowaways are spies. They attack when we’re not looking, kill a few of our men right under our noses. We don’t do well with strangers.”

“I’m sorry,” Even gasps.

Isak nods. “You’re lucky, Even.” He lowers his sword, pulls him away from the edge. “You’ll have a job just like everyone else. You’re expected to do it, and do it well. Otherwise a swim with the sharks might be in the cards. I’m Isak, and this is _The Serpentine._ Welcome aboard.”


	2. two

“I’m just saying it’s dangerous,” Jonas advises, pacing across the floor in front of Isak’s desk. Isak is a bit surprised he’s not wearing holes in the wood. “We know nothing about this man. He could be working for the king, for all we know. The Norwegian government has it out for you, and if he’s a spy or a runaway prince in disguise, this could end horribly for us, and more so for you. Why are you taking such a big risk?”

Isak rubs at his temples. He loves and trusts Jonas, he does. It’s why he entrusted him with the role of first mate. However, he’s sick and tired of being told that his decisions aren’t good. “I’m the captain of this ship, Jonas. I’ve seen my fair share of traitors and stowaways, and I’ve dealt with many situations where I could’ve ended up dead or in prison. I’m telling you, this kid isn’t working for the government. You didn’t see the fear in his eyes when I found him.”

“Anyone would be scared if a fucking pirate put a sword to their neck,” Jonas snaps, and then shakes his head, stopping his pacing. “Keeping him round is dangerous, Captain, and you know it. You just like him because he’s handsome.”

At that, Isak stands. “This is my ship, Jonas. You know I trust you and your opinions, but at the end of the day, I’m the one in charge. What I say goes. And I say that Even is to be taught whatever job he’s best at. If he’s terrible at one, move him to the next. There’s got to be something on this godforsaken ship he’s good at, and it’s your task to find out what. Captain’s orders.” He sits back down, pulling out his parchment so he can jot down some things in his captain’s log. “Off you go.”

With a huff, Jonas exits the cabin. Isak waits until he’s gone to sit back in his chair and scrub his hands over his face, considering the points his first mate had been making. He knew how potentially dangerous it was to allow Even on board, he knew that he was risking the safety of himself and his crew. He knew it was dangerous, and yet, he did it anyway. 

But they’re in the middle of the ocean for the next three months, and Even has no weapons. If he’s looking to report back to the king of Norway, it’ll take time—at least until they get to North America and he has time to write a letter. So, Isak has until then to figure out whether or not Even is someone to be trusted. Surely, it’ll work out. There isn’t a wolf alive who could hide in sheep’s clothing for such a long period of time. 

Isak takes out his journal, deciding he’s better off just distracting himself with work. This is a pirate ship, for Heaven’s sake, not a Shakespearean drama. This isn’t a feud of the pirates vs the commoner, this is work, this is Isak’s entire livelihood on the line. At the end of the day, he has to keep sight of what’s important, unless he wants to become a prisoner of the Brits or fish food. He dips his quill in the ink pot on his desk, and cracks open to the newest blank page. 

_ Captain’s Log _

_ The weather has fared nicely. Our course has been clear thus far. The crew is working well together. The newest addition, Even, is learning from the more experienced crew. I hope for him to be a valuable and functional member of the crew by the time we land in the Americas in early May. The weather should be warm, then, and the weather and course to South America will hopefully be smooth. Bjørgvin was welcoming to us all, and we hope not to return to Norway any time soon. _

He closes his book, putting it aside. He’s due to check on Even soon, anyway. Might as well go and see how his attempts at becoming part of the crew are working. 

Isak finds Even with Jonas, who’s pointing out the different parts of the ship, what they’re called, and what purpose they serve. They both stop and give Isak their full attention when they notice he’d approached. 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Isak nods, looking pointedly at Even for a moment before returning to Jonas. “Already warming up to him? Our talk in the cabin must’ve gone better than I’d originally thought.”

“Magnus dropped him with me almost as soon as I left your quarters, Captain. As it turns out, Even doesn’t know the first thing about boats. I’m teaching him.”

“Very well,” Isak nods, tipping his hat. “I’ll be on my way, then. Good luck to you both.” He steps back and crosses the deck, checking on the rest of his men. It takes every ounce of willpower within him not to turn around and face Even again. He doesn’t want the crew to know that something’s up, that Even—a potential traitor—makes a weird feeling stir in Isak’s gut. He figures even the smallest of looks would give it away. 

Soon, he ends up in the kitchen, where Mahdi is cooking once again. “Afternoon, sir,” Isak greets, and Mahdi formally greets him in return. Isak hates when people do that. It makes him feel pretentious and snobby. “How’s dinner preparations?”

“Running smoothly, for now. Until Jonas brings in that new recruit to cook with me. Jonas says they’re testing his ability to do our jobs until they find one he’s good at.”

“Ah, well if he does come in here, I imagine he might be an asset. He was the chef at the inn,” Isak says. Mahdi just nods once, clearly not believing it. “Do you doubt me?”

“No, Captain, of course not. I’m just weary on Even’s culinary ability. After all, sir, cooking on a ship for many people is very different from cooking for a few people in a proper kitchen. Even will have a lot to learn.”

“Let us hope he’s a fast learner, then,” Isak says, and Mahdi hums his agreement. “After all, I believe it was you who burnt down the last ship you worked for, am I correct?” He smiles when Mahdi looks up at him, so he knows that he’s only joking. 

Mahdi cracks a smile, too. “You are correct, sir. But that wasn’t my doing. See, I may have started the oil fire, but my sous chef was the one who attempted to put it out with water. Water doesn’t put out an oil fire, Captain. Water and oil don’t mix, so when you pour water on an oil fire, the water sinks to the bottom, evaporates, and spreads flaming oil all around.” Isak can’t hold back his laughter at the mere thought of Mahdi watching a man set a wooden ship on fire. He can envision the expression Mahdi must have had. “I guarantee you that man never made that mistake again.”

“I should hope not,” Isak chuckles, “for that would be quite the lesson, I would assume.”

“As would I.”

“How should you put out an oil fire, then?”

“Cover it,” Mahdi advises. “If you contain the fire, it will consume all of the oxygen and put itself out.”

Isak nods, “Good to know.” He reaches for one of the pots that Mahdi is cooking in, peering inside of it. “Soup?”

“Stew,” Mahdi corrects. “Potatoes and salt beef.”

“Sounds much better than the hardtack biscuits and grease grits we’ll be living off of in two months time,” Isak jokes, and Mahdi raises an invisible glass in agreement. “I leave you to your business, then. Do call me first when dinner is prepared, I want the first serving before those barbarians get too greedy.” He winks once at Mahdi before exiting the kitchen. 

He finds Even sitting outside of the kitchen, doing sums. Isak scans his eyes around, searching for Jonas—nowhere to be found. He glances back down at Even and the sums he’s attempting to do. 

“Did Jonas instruct you to do this?” Isak asks, and Even nods. “What is it?”

“Inventory,” Even explains. “He wanted to know if I was any good at maths. I told him I wasn’t, but he said I might turn out to be better than anyone else here.”

Isak sets his lips in a line, sighing heavily. Jonas knew good and well that Isak had a handle on doing sums and inventory. Isak knows that Jonas probably just wanted Even to stay busy and out of his way, which makes Isak angry. Jonas had specific instructions to find what Even is good at so he can be beneficial to the ship and the crew. Neglecting that is going directly against captain’s orders. 

He reaches to take the parchment from Even’s hands, rolling it up and tucking it in his waistband. He points to the kitchen. “Go in there and tell Mahdi that you’re under orders from me to learn how to cook from him. He’ll tell you everything you need to know. In the meantime, I’ll speak to Jonas about these sums. You won’t have to do inventory again.” He pats Even’s shoulder and then directs him down the stairs, waiting until he’s out of sight to storm across the deck and find Jonas. 

After ripping Jonas a new one, Isak makes his way back towards the kitchen. Seemingly, he can’t trust any of his men to properly look after Even. He’ll just have to do it himself. It wouldn’t be the first time Isak had to take someone under his wing—Jonas and Magnus both wouldn’t be half the seamen they are now if it weren’t for Isak. Hell, even Mahdi can attribute some of his skill to Isak’s teaching. 

Even is sat over a bucket when Isak returns, peeling potatoes. Peels go into the bucket beneath him, potatoes get cut into quarters and then dropped into the steaming pot above the fire. Isak can’t possibly know if cooking is truly Even’s forte, but his hands are steady around the potato knife, so he feels comfortable with leaving Even to this assignment for a few days. Unless they find something better suited, anyway. 

“How’s your morning been?” Isak asks, trying to keep his voice at least somewhat gentle. Sure, he’d been a bit harsh with Even before, but that was just intimidation tactics. Even was on the ship now, so there was no use trying to scare him away anymore. All he can do now is try to keep him alive for the next few months.

“It’s been okay,” Even nods, starting to cut a potato in half. It’s rather big, so Isak watches him cut it into six pieces instead of four. “Jonas was very kind, although a little impatient. I understand, though. He has a job to do. I wouldn’t want some clueless man following me like a shadow whilst I’m trying to get things done.”

“His job today was to take care of you. I’ve spoken with him about it. But that’s over now. I’ll take care of you myself.”

Even offers him a small smile. “I appreciate that greatly, Captain. I know you didn’t want me on board, and I know I betrayed your trust by hiding onboard. And I truly am sorry for that, I just couldn’t stay at home anymore. You know that, though. So I thank you immensely for your generosity.”

“I only wanted to keep you safe, Even. It was never about not wanting you. Our lives are at stake everyday, out here. You never know if you’ll live to see the next day’s sunrise. I wanted to protect you from that. Life at the inn may have been menial, but it was  _ safe. _ That is why I tried to discourage you from joining us.”

“You hardly know me,” Even murmurs, his head tilted in curiosity. “What is it to you if I live to see tomorrow or not?”

Isak isn’t really sure how to answer that. There was just something about Even that made Isak want to protect him. Even really does look like he belongs in a castle with a crown on his head, way too pretty for a life like this. But more than that, there’s something about his demeanor, about the gentleness in his eyes that tells Isak that Even deserves more of a life than Isak and  _ The Serpentine _ could ever offer.

But then again, who is Isak to make a decision like that? It’s up to Even what he does with his life. It’s nobody’s business but Even’s. 

“Just something about you,” Isak murmurs back. Even nods once, and that’s when Isak notices the gold chain around his neck, just barely hidden by his clothing. “What’s that around your neck?” He asks, moving his hand to his Even’s collar. He’s never seen gold on anyone that  _ wasn’t _ a royal. This may be the proof of Even’s espionage, so carelessly shown by candlelight.

Even’s hand flies to his neck, nearly cutting himself with the potato knife in the process. He’s blushing, Isak notices, as he pulls the necklace from underneath his shirt. He pulls it off, handing it over to Isak, who accepts it in his cupped palm. Mahdi hands over a candle so Isak can get a better glimpse.

It’s a locket. Emblazoned on the front is the sky; one half sun, one half moon and stars. It looks expensive, much too expensive to be owned by the son of an innkeeper. And there’s nothing inside of it, suggesting that there isn’t much sentimental value behind it.

“Where did you get this?” Isak demands, closing his fist around the metal. Even looks desperately towards it, like he wants to snatch it right back and never let it see the light of day once more. “Tell me where you got this, or I’ll throw it off the back end of the ship and you can go right along with it.”

“My father gave it to me,” Even explains, his voice laced with anxiety and desperation. “His father brought it back from Sweden just after the Great Northern War. He passed it down to my father, and when my father was on his deathbed, he gave it to me. He was very ill, Captain, he came down with smallpox and died within a week. That’s all I have left of him.”

Isak squints suspiciously at him. He wants to believe the story, he truly does. Isak’s parents are still alive (as far as he knows), but for all he’s concerned, he’s an orphan. He knows how it feels to lose parents. But he knows he has to be suspicious when the safety of the crew is at risk.

“How did your grandfather afford such a locket? I presume this is real gold.”

Even gulps. “He stole it. He stole it out of a jewelry shop in Gävle as a gift for my grandmother, but she died before he returned. She died in childbirth. Please, Captain, you have to believe me. I wouldn’t lie,” he insists. He makes no move to snatch the locket back, but Isak can tell how desperately he wants to.

After sizing him up for a moment, Isak hands the locket back. Even thanks him profusely as he puts it on, tucking it back into his shirt. “Don’t let anyone else catch sight of that, or they might steal it,” Isak advises. “Most of the men aboard the ship are kind enough, but they all have an appetite for gold.”

“With all due respect, Captain, I’d expect nothing less. This is a pirate ship, after all.”

“That it is,” Isak nods, glancing around at the wooden planks that make up  _ The Serpentine’s _ kitchen. He loves every board, every nail, every sail on this ship as if he built it with his own two hands. “A damn good one at that. You’ll come to see that soon enough.”


	3. three

It’s the most beautiful morning Isak’s seen this entire voyage. They’d been sailing for the past three weeks, and Isak has witnessed 20 sunrises. This 21st sunrise has all of them beat. The colors on the horizon, the stillness of the sea, and how eerily quiet the entire ship is. Isak seems to be the only one awake—well, him and the pod of dolphins he’d seen just a few moments ago. He’d thought the water would be too cold for them, but there they’d been.

He’d left his cabin in order to get a proper view of them. The deck was empty, so he could enjoy the peaceful atmosphere as he leans over the side of the ship, hoping to catch another glimpse of them. It’s always nice to be reminded that other life exists in the world, that it’s not just himself and his crew and the great expanse of ocean. It’s difficult to remember that sometimes, when the only things you see from day to day are each other and identical waters. It makes the world seem a little less lonely.

Suddenly, he becomes aware of a person standing next to him. But before he can turn to see who it is, he hears their voice, which answers the question.

“Dolphins or sharks?” Even asks, voice barely above a whisper. There’s no need to whisper, really, but Isak knows why he is. It’s so quiet that it almost feels criminal to break the silence. “I’ve never seen either. My mother’s told stories about seeing dolphins once, but I think the water in Bjørgvin is too cold.”

“Dolphins.”

“How can you tell? Under the water, they look the same, don’t they?”

Isak nods. “A bit. But the key, if you can’t see their front, is to look at the dorsal fins. The dorsal fin of a shark has a straight tailing edge, but the dorsal fin of a dolphin has a curved one.” He turns to the water again, trying to find them in the waves.

They sit in silence for a little while, waiting to hear the sound of the dolphins clicking, or to see if they start jumping up again. Isak figures they should soon, to breathe if nothing else—but there’s no sign of them. Part of him wonders if he’d just imagined the whole thing from the start. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d hallucinated something.

Somewhere between the Caribbean islands just last year, Isak had himself and the entire crew convinced that he’d seen gold under the water. It took 11 of his men swimming in dangerous water to deduce that it was, in fact, just an empty sandbar, and Isak had thought the sun reflecting off the surface was gold. He also once directed them to an island that didn’t actually exist. Life at sea can get your mind boggled, sometimes.

As if Even can hear his thoughts, he suddenly asks, “Do you believe in mermaids?”

“Of course I do. I’ve seen one.”

“Oh,” Even says, eyebrows raised, “have you?”

Isak nods. “Yeah. We were in port in Aruba, and the crew was on land, partying with Dutch and native island girls. I’d stayed on board, but eventually decided to walk the beach. I came across these secluded rocks, just out of view of the city. I heard singing, and followed the sound to this small cove, where I saw her. She had golden skin and the longest blonde hair I’ve ever seen, and her tail was as blue as the very water we’re looking at now. I just sat and watched her for a bit, until I had to go back to the ship. I’ll never forget that. She was beautiful.”

Even hums, almost as if he’s considering Isak’s words, thinking about them. “Do you think I could be a mermaid?” He asks eventually, and Isak laughs. “I’m serious. Could I be one?”

“Of course not. You’re a human.”

“Yeah, but what if one bit me? Then, like a vampire, I would turn into a mermaid.”

Isak snorts, “That’s not possible.”

“Sure it is. Mermaids are imaginary as is, so who’s to say that my imagination can’t be true but the imagination of countless sailors can be?”

“They’re not imaginary,” Isak protests, finally tearing his eyes away from the sea. It’s the first time he’s properly looked at Even in the daylight, and it makes the tips of his fingers ache to reach out and touch. He’s even more beautiful when he’s not covered in soot; and the sunrise is doing amazing things for his skin. “I’ve seen one.”

Even rolls his eyes—they’re blue. But not blue like the mid-Atlantic, they’re blue like the coastal waters of the tropics. Warm and inviting, like it’s begging you to just dip your toes in. “And you’re a sailor with an imagination. You probably just saw some marine life and imagined it was a woman, because you hadn’t seen one in so long.” It’s similar to the accusation he made in the inn, about men and women looking one and the same when someone has gone too long without sex.

But Even is as incorrect now as he was then.

“I have no desire to see a woman,” Isak admits, holding eye contact. “They are of no benefit to me and my romantic life.”

Even’s eyes widen. “You’re….?” He doesn’t dare say the word, so Isak nods to save him the trouble. Even gulps. “I’m…” He looks around, checking to make sure no one is around. “I loved a boy once. His name was Mikael—you’d like him, I think. He was a playwright, but all of his works were too controversial to be published, so he worked as a shoemaker too. I thought about marrying him, but I think I wouldn’t mind marrying a woman, so I’ll just… It’s illegal to marry a man, so I suppose…”

“What sort of plays did he write?”

“Ones about women in war,” Even says immediately, clearly grateful for the slight change of topic. Isak, on the other hand, still possesses a pounding, nervous heart. “And one about a man and his boyfriend secretly raising a child together. They were all really good.”

Isak smiles a bit. “They sound interesting. Perhaps one day, people will discover them, and perform his stories. Maybe one day it won’t be illegal.” Even smiles back, but it’s wistful. They both know it’s stupid to hope that homosexuality ever be accepted by society. Just thinking about it makes Isak think of home, and that makes his stomach twist.

“Are you okay?” Even asks, and Isak curses to himself. “You look a bit seasick. Do you need to sit?”

Isak doesn’t get seasick. But he does feel seconds away from throwing up, so he accepts Even’s help and moves to sit on a nearby barrel. Even sits next to him, and rubs his back. It’s surprisingly soothing, for a reason that Isak can’t place. Or perhaps he can.

“Captain!” Jonas calls, and the serenity is broken. Isak quietly mourns it, and when Even moves away, he mourns that too. “I hate to interrupt, but there’s a leak in the cargo hold.”

Just like that, Isak’s on his feet, nausea be damned. He follows Jonas and various other crew members down to the cargo hold, swearing when he steps in a thin film of water. The source of the leak is a tiny, tiny split in the wood—but it’s clearly been an issue for a few hours that had just gone unnoticed, considering the flooding.

Someone shoves a bucket of tar into Isak’s hands, and he’s quick to kneel down and start working it onto the problem area. The rest of the crew works on getting the water out of the hold while Isak prays to God that the tar sticks and keeps more water from entering.

After ten minutes of frantically pouring tar, the water seems to stop. They can only hope it’s not a temporary saving grace. Isak hands the tar back over and instructs his crew to get the water cleaned up and make sure none of the cargo is damaged. _Hopefully_ , Isak thinks, i _t drowned some of the rats._

The rest of the day goes rather smoothly. Isak supervises in the kitchen a bit, where Even seems to be thriving. Mahdi also divulges to Isak that he’d been too quick to judge Even, because he’s been a great deal of help. Jonas, too, seems a bit disappointed in himself for being so quick to pass judgment. Part of Isak feels proud for trusting his gut and choosing to spare Even, choosing to help him. He feels as though he made the best decision for himself, for the crew, and for Even.

By evening, he’s sat back in his office, doing inventory as always. The leak of the early morning had ruined a good amount of parchment that was stored in the cargo hold, as well as some fabric that was down there. It put a good wound in their goods, which led Isak to worry. This might call for a seizure of another ship, which would inevitably end up in a bloody battle as always.

Normally, he wouldn’t mind it. But now he’s worried about Even, as stupid as it is. He shouldn’t worry about Even.

“I don’t want to fight,” Isak says to himself, trying to convince himself that it’s truth. “I don’t want to fight, and that is the sole reason for my apprehension. I don’t want to fight.”

“Who are we fighting?” Magnus asks, and Isak looks up to find him sitting in the chair across from Isak’s desk. “I know you’re about to ask how long I’ve been here, and my answer is that I don’t know. Long enough to know that you’re fighting yourself over fighting someone else. Who?”

Isak sighs, trying to brush off the weird feeling on his shoulders. “The water ruined some of our textiles and paper. If we don’t trade that, we don’t get money. The only option is to seize a ship and loot it, but… I find myself a bit apprehensive to capture a ship,” he admits, and Magnus’s eyebrows draw into a confused line. “I know it’s rare for me to hesitate something like this, especially when the welfare of our ship and crew is at stake.”

Magnus shakes his head. “No, that isn’t why I’m confused. I’m confused as to why that’s our only option.”

“What do you mean? How else are we going to get money, or supplies?”

“Couldn’t you just get Even to paint something and then sell those paintings in the city?” Magnus asks, and it’s Isak’s turn to be confused. “Hell, he’s amazing at it. You could probably earn a good sum of money from selling his art, and it would be enough to cover any lost profit from the ruined materials. That way, we don’t lose any men, any weapons, or any necessary supplies.”

Isak blinks. “Even is an artist?”

“Yeah! Haven’t you seen?!” Magnus exclaims, and Isak shakes his head. “Holy shit. I can’t believe you haven’t seen it. Next time you see Even, ask him to show you his notebook. It’s amazing.”

“Send him in here,” Isak decides, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands together. If Even truly does possess such talent, selling his original works might not be a bad idea. They can use anything they can get. “Go to the kitchens and tell him to report to the Captain’s quarters immediately, Captain’s orders.”

Magnus nods, starting to stand up. “He could also make a lot of money modeling for portraits. He’s quite beautiful, isn’t he? Looks like a prince or something.”

Isak fights the blush that threatens his cheeks, and he simply nods at Magnus, trying to usher him out the door.

“Even’s appearance is neither here nor there,” he attempts, hoping he sounds blasé enough to satisfy Magnus’s needs for validation. “Hurry along. If Even’s not willing, I’ll need the time in the day to figure something out. Go on.”

Finally, Magnus chooses to follow orders. It grants Isak only a few sparing moments of silence, before Even comes in, smelling immediately of grease grits. It makes Isak aware of his ever present hunger, but he pushes that aside. He’s here to deal with more important matters than the food Even had been preparing, or how beautiful he is.

“Magnus said you wished to see me,” Even says, closing the cabin door behind him. Isak nods, gesturing towards the empty chair which Magnus had occupied just minutes prior. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I just have a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”  
Even shakes his head.

“Very well. You see, it’s been brought to my attention that you’re quite the artist. Is this true?”

At this, Even’s cheeks go rosy. It’s just barely tinted enough that it could be mistaken for a sunburn, but Isak knows better. He knows that Even hasn’t gotten a sunburn, has been working under the deck for too long. And besides, Isak spends so much of his spare time looking at Even that he’d definitely have noticed a sunburn before now. It’s quite difficult for Isak not to notice every little thing about Even, really.

“I suppose so,” Even nods.

“What do you mean you suppose so? Either it’s true or it isn’t.”

Even flushes more, squirming under the direct attention of the captain. Isak tries his best to appear less intimidating and more… friendly, perhaps. “Well, I suppose some might say I’m rather talented. But I’ve never considered my work to be anything spectacular. It’s really quite subjective, isn’t it?” He meets Isak’s eyes, and it nearly takes Isak’s breath away to see the raw vulnerability in his baby blues.

“Would you mind showing me some?”

“Not at all,” Even replies instantly. “I’ll just have to get my book from the crew’s quarters, if that’s all right. It’ll just be a moment.”

Isak gestures towards the door to communicate that Even is dismissed, and Even smiles brightly before running off. It gives Isak a few spare moments to gather his thoughts and regain some composure. The more time he spends with Even, the more aware of Even’s beauty he becomes. He can’t imagine the horrible situation he’ll be in if he gets to know Even too well. He can’t imagine the boy being anything other than the best person to walk the earth.

When Even returns, it’s with the same bright smile he’d left with. He hands the book over to Isak, and then sits back down. “Some of those are from before I boarded _The Serpentine_ , but you’ll also notice that I drew a lot of people and scenes that I’ve witnessed during this voyage. Some of the faces are blank—I’m still trying to work on perfecting my ability to draw accurate faces. I always make mistakes when it comes to proportion. But I think everything else is-is quite good.” He laughs awkwardly, leaning back in the chair and fiddling with his collar. Isak supposes it’s a way to quell some anxiety, for Even to play with the chain of his locket. Not very discreet.

Isak starts flipping through pages, and he’s in awe over what he finds. The drawings are absolutely stunning, one million times beyond anything he could’ve expected. There’s charcoal drawings of Jonas raising the sails, of Magnus mending the anchor, of Mahdi cooking potatoes, and at least one hundred more that are of Isak doing the most mundane things. It’s flattering, really. At least to Isak it is.

“Even, these are absolutely amazing,” he encourages, stopping his skimming to admire an extremely detailed portrait of Mahdi. If it weren’t black and white on parchment, it might just look like an exact replica. “I can’t believe you’ve kept this talent a secret from me. I have just the job for you.”

Even blinks. “What about the kitchen? I quite like that job.”

“You can keep it, if you want. But you’ll need to find time for this second job, too. We’re running a bit low on supplies, on account of the fact that there was a leak in the cargo hold. We can’t afford to lose any money. So, Magnus proposed the idea that you could create various paintings, and we could sell them for profit in the Americas. Do you think you could handle that?”

“Of course I can. Captain, I told you back at the inn that I’m willing to do any job you offer me. I promised to earn my keep and I intend to honor that promise.”

“Good,” Isak nods, handing Even his sketchbook back. “There’s paints and canvas in the cargo hold, they’re usually used for the ship’s appearance or for the cartographer. Feel free to use any of them.”

Even nods. “Thank you immensely, my Captain. I won’t let you down, I swear.” He stands, holding out his right hand for a handshake. Giving handshakes isn’t necessarily pirate etiquette, but Isak shakes his hand anyway. “This is an amazing opportunity.”

“Just think, 200 years down the line, people might be spending millions on an original Even Bech Næsheim painting from the 1770s.”

“What good’ll that do me?” Even teases. “I’ll be long dead in 200 years. I want people to spend millions now.”

Isak laughs, and then relishes in the way that it makes Even smile when he makes Isak laugh. Even has a gorgeous smile.

“Don’t we all?” He sighs, and Even chuckles. “Thank you again for your contributions. They won’t go unrewarded.”

“I don’t need any compensation, Captain. Gratitude and a good life on this ship is more than enough.”

“I always repay my debts, Even. You can count on that.” He stands, smiling again at Even. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a bit of sums to finish up, now that we’ve worked out a plan for the decrease in profits.”

Even nods quickly, backing out of the room. “Of course, Captain. I’ll be back tomorrow with the first painting complete, I promise.” And then he’s gone, and the only thing remaining is his promises. Isak really, really hopes he’s the type of guy to make good on his promises.

***

The next morning’s sunrise is interrupted by Even coming into the cabin, a canvas covered by a sheet in his hands. Isak sighs, turning expectantly to face him.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I figured you’d want to see as soon as it was finished,” Even rushes out, clearly giddy with excitement.

“Of course,” Isak nods. “Show me.”

Even props the canvas up on Isak’s desk, and pulls off the sheet. Isak’s jaw hits the floor as he soaks in the masterpiece before him.

It’s a sunset. A beautiful sunset. The sky is painted with oranges and pinks and yellows, and the water glitters as if it’s animate. There’s no dolphin fins or pirate ships, but it still feels as if there’s life there somehow, as if Isak can jump into the picture and live in it. He very nearly reaches out to touch, like he can submerge his fingertips in the glassy water and feel a coral reef underneath the surface. It’s thrumming with life and originality and so much beauty.

He flicks his gaze up to Even, trying to form words but finding himself unable. He figures his speechlessness says more than his words ever could, especially when Even blushes, casting his eyes downward.

“So you like it?” Even asks, and Isak tries once again to speak, but he can’t.

Instead, he reaches for the painting to analyze it closer. It feels so real; so, so real. “I’m so glad it meets your standards. This is just one sunset, there are many things I can paint and have them turn out much like this. I hope the others won’t disappoint—I quite like landscapes, more than portraits.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for any of your work to be anything other than stellar. I’m in shock, Even, truly I am,” he encourages, staring up at him with wide eyes and an amazed smile.

Even smiles proudly. “Thank you, Captain. I worked all night on it.”

“It shows. Something of this quality would take me a lifetime to paint, and it wouldn’t be nearly this good. I’m thoroughly impressed.”

“Thank you.” Even opens his mouth to say something else, but then thinks better of it, quickly snapping his mouth closed. Isak cocks one eyebrow, waiting for him to complete his thought. Even blushes. “I was just going to say that I do have another one outlined, if you’d like to see that. It’s not completed.”

Isak nods, “I would absolutely love to see more.”

Even nods, grabbing a canvas he’d apparently placed to the side when he walked in. This one is only half finished, but it’s equally as breathtaking. It’s a portrait of _Isak_ , more beautiful than any painting Isak’s ever seen of himself. It makes him look like _he_ could be a prince, with a strong jawline and clear skin and not a hint of all the hurt he knows lives in the green of his eyes. It’s like looking at a dream version of himself, the version of himself that he could be if he’d stayed in Christiania and never became a pirate. He feels a knot start in his throat.

This is the version of himself that his mother always wanted him to be. The wealthy husband and father of 2 beautiful children. The lawmaker, the Parliament member, the scientist. There’s not a hint of scruff on his jaw and there’s no dirt smudged behind his ears. He’s put together, well built like a puzzle, and he thinks that if his mother saw him now, saw him being the opposite of this painting, she’d never send him another letter.

Even looks concerned suddenly, pulling the painting away. “Captain, are you okay?” He asks, in the same voice he’d used when he asked if Isak was seasick.

“Yeah,” Isak manages, his voice wavering. “Do you really look at me like this?”

“Of course I do,” Even says, so fast it might’ve been a reflex. “I mean- Doesn’t everyone?”

“I don’t…” He clears his throat, trying to shake away the tears stinging the back of his eyes. “This painting reminds me of home.”

“Oh.” Silence. “Where is home?”

“Christiania. My parents still live there, I think. I haven’t been there in years.”

Even moves to the other side of the desk, sitting on the arm of Isak’s chair and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. It breaks every unspoken rule of personal space and respect that Isak has, but he finds he doesn’t care. “You don’t have to tell me about this,” he soothes. “I can tell how much it pains you to speak about it. And even if I don’t know the reasoning behind your tears, I’m still sorry they’re there. I’m sorry you’ve been through so much hurt.” He hesitates. “Is the pain what pushed you to become a pirate?”

“In some ways,” Isak murmurs. “I guess you and I really aren’t all that different. Suppose that’s why I warmed up to you, let you stay. Wasn’t pity, or anything, it was…” His own voice betrays him, cuts himself off. Even squeezes his shoulders tighter. If it were Jonas, or Magnus, or anyone else, he’d be tightening his core and insisting he’s fine. But for some reason, with Even, he wants to feel.

“You in real life and you in that painting are the same person. Even if you can’t see it.”

If Isak turns just the slightest, he’d be able to kiss Even. Perhaps it’d taste salty from the tears he knows have started falling, or perhaps it’d taste like salt beef that Even stole in small increments while cooking, just to tide over his appetite. He wants to taste it.

Just as he turns, half deciding to take a risk and half scared out of his mind, there’s a knock on the door. The two men spring apart and Even is on the other side of the room fiddling with paintings before Isak has time to miss the warmth and comfort of his arm.

“Who is it?” Isak calls, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“Mahdi!” He hears. “Have you seen Even? We need to prepare breakfast.”

Even hurries over, pulls the door open. Mahdi looks shocked to see him. “My apologies, Mahdi. I’ll be right down. Captain,” he turns to Isak, “might I leave the paintings in here, for safekeeping?” Isak nods his consent, and Even smiles gratefully before rushing out of the room to head to the kitchens.

Mahdi lingers.

“It’s not what it appears,” Isak begins.

“It doesn’t appear as anything,” Mahdi shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eyes. “At least, nothing that hasn’t been there since he first came on board.”

Before Isak can ask what that means, Mahdi is gone, and Isak is left to deal with the silence alone.


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning for the tiniest bit of smut

Over time, Even’s work in the kitchen decreases and he spends more and more time in the captain’s quarters, where it’s quiet and no one will bother him. Isak allows him unrestricted access to the window, and it produces multiple gorgeous sunrise/sunset paintings, as well as some of just the sea. There’s a few with mermaids and sirens and dolphins, but those are less common—Even says that painting life forms is much more difficult than painting nature. Isak thinks Even paints both of them beautifully.

Even starts sleeping in the captain’s quarters, too. They set up a cot in the corner, and the smell of paints and the gentle rock of the ship lull both Isak and Even to sleep. It’s a bit odd to share the space that had been unwaveringly his own for so many years, but Isak finds that it’s not a change he’s opposed to. In fact, he grows quite fond of seeing Even in his periphery whilst he’s doing sums or inventory. It makes him feel less lonely, more so than the dolphins.

It helps quite a bit that Even is unbelievably pleasant to look at. Isak thinks that, if he could paint as well as Even does, he’d paint Even’s portrait. He’d dedicate special time to the curve of Even’s jaw, to the sparkling baby blue of his eyes, and to the plump turns of his lips. Even’s beautiful, simple as that.

So beautiful, in fact, that on the morning that marks the end of the first month of their voyage, Isak forgets to look away to watch the sunrise.

Even’s painting an oil painting, this time. He’s working with browns, drawing lines up and down the trunk of a tree. “There’s a huge Norwegian spruce tree near the house I grew up in,” Even is explaining, whilst Isak sits in his chair and pretends to be half-listening, half-working. He’s not working at all, in all honesty. How could he? “My Mother always told me fairies lived in it. Fairies that painted the flowers in the spring, and made the rainbows after rain. I spent many of my adolescent days searching the tree for fairies, even when it was winter and the ground was buried under mounds of snow. I’d have to sit by the fire for hours just to warm up afterwards, but I was determined to find a fairy.” He replaces his brown with green, sets to work on the leaves.

“Did you ever find one?” Isak asks, only half teasing.

Even smiles up at him. “No, never. I stopped looking round the time my father died, when mother bought the inn and we moved there.” His free hand comes to his neck, clearly feeling the locket through the fabric of his tunic. “Now I just don’t believe.”

“There’s fun in believing,” Isak counters.

“Isn’t it quite naïve of the human race to believe we’re the most developed and sentient living beings? Isn’t it just our own vanity that causes us to deem things such as fairies and mermaids as fictional?”

“No. It’s science.”

“Science has yet to prove to me that mermaids and fairies aren’t real.”  
“And you,” Even smirks, eyes on his canvas, “have yet to prove that they are.”

Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that Isak’s feelings are dangerous. It’s easy to forget that if the wrong person were to walk in at an inopportune time, he’d face the death penalty. It’s easy to get lost in watching Even’s brush strokes, to wonder how it’d feel for Even to brush his fingertips just as gently along Isak’s bare skin. It’s easy to fantasize about kissing him, and kissing his jaw, his neck, his chest. Sometimes, it’s all Isak can think about.

Other times, it’s hard to forget. Like when he’s sat up late at night, listening to the barely muffled sounds of Even getting himself off on the other side of the room. He knows his lust is wrong, that he’s going to hell—and he gets hard, anyway. He wonders what Even would think of that. Knowing that Even looks at men the same way Isak does doesn’t mean that Even would be interested in Isak. Even deserves a royal fairy tale, not the greasy pirate who’s taken more lives than he’s saved.

Even swaps his brown paints for green, dipping his brush in a cup of water to clean it off. “I can practically hear you thinking,” Even teases, and Isak’s spine stiffens. “What’s got your mind going so hard, hm? Something on your mind?”

“I suppose you could say that,” Isak admits, and Even shoots him a curious glance over his shoulder. “Nothing too interesting.”

“No? Are you sure? I’m inclined to believe that your mind is full of interesting thoughts.”

“You reckon?”

“Yeah.” Even’s voice is soft, and Isak wonders why. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you should know that I always have an ear.”

Isak smiles to himself, glancing down at his unfinished paperwork. It’s funny how Even can be both sex on legs and the sweetest person in the world. It’s caused a tug-of-war in his mind, between lust and love—the urge to pound him into the mattress and the urge to whisper sweet nothings across his pillow. More often than not, the gentle, fond side wins out.

Today, Isak’s dick is taking interest, only shielded by his desk.

“You know,” Even continues, clearly uncomfortable with prolonged silences between them, “once I was commissioned to paint a couple for their anniversary. I went to their cottage imagining that I’d paint them in a typical pose, you know, the lady sitting down and her husband standing behind her. When I got in, though, they were both only in robes. Stripped right down to nothing, wanted me to paint them naked. I thought they were going to ask me to paint them during intercourse.”

 _Intercourse._ Of course Even would use such a word, and it shouldn’t turn Isak on, but it does. He can’t help but reach a hand down, palming between his thighs just to take the edge off.

“I did it, though. I painted them, and they paid me a good amount for it. I bought myself a real nice meal with that money, and the rest went to Ma. I don’t have any siblings or anything, but the inn needed some updates, and I didn’t want to waste good money on material things. We make pretty good money from sailors I suppose, but there can be quite the length of time between them. Things get pretty tight with money. Sometimes I imagine what it must be like to be royalty, to have so much at your disposal. Seeing people struggle to get food and shelter every night, knowing they have a warm bed with silk sheets and a personal chef living with them. It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? The cards people get dealt when they’re born, predestining them to poverty or notoriety. Maybe I’m just jealous, I don’t know. Maybe it’s over-idealized. I don’t know if I could keep up the public appearance of royals. Hey, are you okay?”

Isak looks up, knows his face is flushed. He hadn’t been able to stop the hand on his dick, the sensations feeling so good in addition to Even’s voice. He could tune out what Even was saying, just listen to the sounds, imagine that Even was saying something filthy. He wonders if, somehow, Even knows what he’s doing. He wonders if it’s practically written across his forehead.

“Isak?” Even prompts again, putting his paintbrush down and walking over. Isak moves his hand away from himself just in time. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to me about anything?”

Isak shakes his head. “No, no. I’m just thinking, you know. We’re not too far out from the Americas now, we… You know.”

Even raises his eyebrows. “Okay. Well, you just look really concerned about something. I suppose I just worry too much.” He glances down at the desk, and takes note of the little doodles on Isak’s papers. “Those are cute. Who knew you were such an artist?” He reaches for the papers, and his hand hits the pot of ink.

It falls almost in slow motion, spilling ink all down the desk. Isak stands up to avoid ink splatter before it can occur to him just what he’s doing.

At first, Even begins to apologize. “Fuck, Isak, I’m so sorry. I can clean it up, I didn’t mean— Oh.” His eyes go wide, and that’s when it occurs to Isak that his dick is making a perfect tent in his trousers, and Even is definitely aware of his arousal now. His heart sinks. “Oh. Um, Isak, I didn’t— Or, Captain, sorry, _Captain,_ I should be calling you that. I‘m sorry, Captain, I didn’t know you—”

“Just go,” Isak grits out, watching the ink drip off of his desk instead of looking at Even. “It’s fine. Just go.”

“Captain, I—”

“Go, Even. I mean it.”  
Even nods frantically, turning towards the door. Isak believes he’s actually going to leave, and is just about to dissolve into shame when Even turns back. “Isak,” he says, his voice soft, like earlier. “I, um. Do you want some help with that?”

“I can clean up the ink just fine, Even.”

“I know,” Even says. “That wasn’t what I was talking about.”

Isak’s head snaps up, trying to gauge if Even is just taking the piss. But Even looks sincere, blushing and almost eager.

“Even, you don’t have to do that,” he says softly, and Even just smiles a little, stepping closer.

“I know that, too. I want to, though. If you want me to.”

God, does Isak want him to. He can practically feel the wet heat already, his mind going cloudy with how much he wants. It’s been at least a year and a half since someone’s touched him like that, and he knows he’s at serious risk of coming undone really quickly, but he doesn’t care in the moment. All he can think about is being touched, of getting to see what Even’s made of. He wants Even to drive him crazy.

Even seems to get the message, stepping even closer and dropping to his knees. “I’ve never done this before,” Even warns him, tucking his fingers in Isak’s waistband.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Even nods. “There’s a first time for everything. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to. Sit back.” He pushes on Isak’s thighs until Isak sits back in his chair again, and he crawls between his knees. Isak lifts his hips so Even can pulls his trousers down, and Even’s eyes widen as soon as Isak’s cock is free. “You’re...big.”

Isak chuckles a little, reaching down to brush some hair out of Even’s face. “Take it easy.”

Even nods, spitting into his hand and starting that way. After years of nothing, even a mostly dry handjob feels like heaven. Isak bites down on his knuckles to keep his moans at bay, fighting with everything he has to keep his hips from bucking up.

Then he sits back, taking a couple of deep breaths before leaning in. Isak’s tip has just met his lips when there’s a knock at the door, startling both of them. Even practically flies across the room, and Isak pulls up his trousers and sits behind his desk again.

“Come in!” He calls, and Jonas steps in.

“Sorry to bother you, Captain, but Mahdi sent me to ask if you wanted grease grits or salt beef for supper tonight.”

Isak fights the urge to snap at him. “Salt beef is fine, thanks.”

Jonas nods, glancing over at Even. “That’s a nice painting. The red in that one is almost the same color as Even’s cheeks right now.” Isak tenses again, eyes flickering to Jonas. “It’s really hot in this room, Captain. You’re sweating him to death.”

Isak sags in relief. “We’re fine, Jonas. Get back to work.” Jonas salutes and backs out of the room, the door clicking closed behind him.

Even sighs. “That was close.”

“Yeah,” Isak grumbles, “so was I.”

Even barks out a laugh, putting his paintbrush down again. “I can finish what I started, if you want. So you can finish.” He smiles, almost hopefully. But Isak knows he can’t indulge himself like that again, not in such close quarters. It’s too dangerous.

“No,” Isak says, firmly. “You should go see if Mahdi needs help preparing dinner. Go on.” He’s still sporting a hard-on, but he plans to take care of that as soon as Even’s gone. He doesn’t look up to see the wounded expression on Even’s face, the one he knows is there.

“Oh. Yeah, okay.” And then Even’s gone, and Isak swears at himself. He can’t get careless like that again. As much as he wants it, he can’t have it. He can’t be alone with Even like that again, no matter what.

***

Isak doesn’t see Even again until the next morning. He assumes Even sleeps in the crew’s quarters, but it doesn’t bother him. At least, he doesn’t let it bother him. Sleeping in the same room as Even isn’t conducive to keeping Isak on his best behavior. They need this separation in order for Isak to keep his sanity.

But he’s back in the morning, a nervous look on his face when he walks in at Isak’s permission. “I just came back to finish some more paintings,” he says, quietly. “Mahdi said he didn’t need help preparing breakfast, so I figured I’d put this time to good use. If you want me to do that.”

The sentence makes Isak’s heart leap in his chest, but he ignores it. “Of course. Your canvases are still up from yesterday. I’ll just be working on sums.”

Even nods, closing the door behind him and setting up his paints. “So,” Even says, as Isak sits at the desk, “did you get the ink cleaned up?”

“I did,” Isak says, voice tight. “Got it while it was still wet, so it didn’t stain too much.”

“That’s good.”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet again. There’s a weird, tense air between them now. But it’s not awkward, or uncomfortable. It’s crackling with sexual tension, with Isak knowing how Even looks with a dick in his mouth, with Even clearly wanting more. Isak doesn’t remember the last time he was wanted.

“Did you have a girlfriend?” Isak finds himself asking, making Even look up. “Before you joined us, I mean. Did you have a girlfriend?”

Even shakes his head, “No.”

“What about that, um, that boy you loved?”

“He was never mine.”

“You implied that he was.”

Even shakes his head, a small shrug accompanying it. “No. I loved him, and maybe he loved me back, or maybe he didn’t. I was always too scared of the consequences to try and find out.” He cocks his head, giving Isak a curious look. “Why do you ask?”

Isak shrugs, this time. “It was you who said that going long enough without sex can make someone desperate. I was just curious.”

Realization dawns across Even’s face, and his expression is a mix of discouragement and pity. Isak resents the pity with every fiber of his being. He’s always resented receiving people’s pity. He didn’t need it.

“Are you asking if I initiated yesterday because I was desperate? Thinking maybe I was used to having regular intercourse, and now that I’m without, I threw myself at whoever I thought would bite?”

Isak squirms. Even had hit the nail on the head, which quite frankly frightened him. How could Even have been so specific unless he’d had that exact train of thought, unless it was true? It makes something ugly curl around his intestines, squeezing until Isak’s a bit worried he might be sick with it. Feeling wanted is really all Isak’s ever wanted, and it would be a bitter pill to know that he was just a vessel to quell Even’s desires.

Even looks more discouraged at Isak’s lack of response, but he doesn’t move closer, as he might’ve in days previous. Isak supposes he can tell that Isak wants to keep space between them. Hell, maybe that’s why he looks so discouraged; because he’s tactile, and he only knows how to comfort when he can also touch. Something about love languages, probably.

“That’s not what that was, Isak,” Even murmurs, and Isak just sets his jaw. “Is that what you wanted it to be? Does it make you uncomfortable to know that I did it because I wanted you, not just because I wanted pleasure?”

In all honesty, it does. Isak knows he should feel butterflies and happiness to know that maybe he was actually wanted. But this is a man wanting him. A man that he lives on a ship with. A ship with many, many other men. If word gets out to any single one of the crew members that Isak is homosexual, he could very well be thrown overboard. It’s disgusting, it’s sin, it’s unnatural, it’s against God’s Holy law. It’s _wrong,_ and Isak is wrong for indulging in it. 

He sits back in his chair, facing Even. “Yes, it does. Because I’m not interested, Even. You have to understand that I’m not interested in you. Not now, not ever. Indulging in unnatural desires is the quickest way to get yourself killed, and if you want to do that, fine. But you won’t be dragging me down with you. I’m not interested, so don’t ask me again.”

Hurt floods Even’s face, and he doesn’t even try to mask it. Isak tried his damndest not to regret the words. He doesn’t mean them, but he has to say them. This is for the safety of himself and, in the long run, the safety of Even.

Homosexuality isn’t accepted, and they can’t risk the consequences of being found out. Having a relationship, sexual or romantic or otherwise, isn’t in the cards for them. Not in this lifetime, not in this universe. Probably not ever.

**Author's Note:**

> edited, but it is quite late so forgive me for mistakes  
> find me on tumblr @femmevilde


End file.
